


In Pursuit of Satisfaction

by ultharkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, M/M, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Rape Fantasy, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: Rung goes looking for someone to fulfill a need, and is matched with Whirl. It works out very well for both of them.  Contains: set-up for rape-roleplay scene, violence within the context of rape fantasy, p'n'p, tactile, mention of sparks, aftercare.  Many thanks to certifiedvalvecharger for commissioning this <33333 I had a lot of fun writing them, and damn they're adorable together.





	

“You have very specific desires,” Frisson commented, smiling over the data pad that held Rung’s application form. He scrolled through it one last time, before appending his glyph to the bottom. “I take it you’re not new to extreme roleplay?”

“Not at all,” Rung responded. He let the plush seat-back support him, his legs crossed and his hands resting in his lap. “I prefer larger partners. It would need to be someone who could overpower me. I have a list of my tolerances here.”

“If you could send that over,” Frisson said, and nodded as the wireless transfer was received. “Hmm, do you expect to put up much resistance?”

“Yes,” Rung replied. “As much as I’m able.”

Frisson gave it a moment’s thought. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Although I must reiterate that damage caused by club members is not covered by our insurance. You’ll need to take out a separate policy, I can recommend several good quality options.”

“I’m already covered,” Rung said. 

“Well, you did say you weren’t new to this.” Frisson shook his head. “Have you been damaged before in similar scenarios?”

Rung shrugged. “Never seriously. I anticipate gaining some dents and scrapes, indeed I rather expect it. I hope that whoever you have in mind for me will not be gentle.”

Frisson laughed. “Oh, there won’t be any danger of that,” he said. He sent a small file, which Rung scanned before opening. “The safe code,” he said. “If you feel uncomfortable - in a bad way, I mean - if you want to end the scene early or just have a break, transmit that code as a text alert.”

Nodding, Rung copied the code to his hard storage before deleting the file. 

“Welcome to the club,” Frisson told him. “When would you like your scene to take place?”

“This evening?” Rung suggested. “If you can arrange it.”

Frisson grinned. “I know just the person.”

* * *

Tokerith wasn’t a bad place to be a Cybertronian. It was full of mechanical life, and most of it was on a proper scale. None of that miniature ‘mind where you’re stepping’ scrap. A little edgy since his last run-in with the purple jet, Whirl had been looking for a way to blow off some steam. One that wouldn’t get him thrown off the Lost Light. 

Tokerith was a trading colony, a mudball without the inconvenience of too much mud. The light of a new day warmed his back while a desert breeze stroked the length of his rotors. If he’d been sentimental, he might have spared a thought for the multicoloured sky, like the layers of an energon gel candy. He kicked the rocky ground; leave that to the little archivist and his sappy conjunx. Whirl had better things to do.

One better thing in particular, and it was coming around the corner. 

Frisson sure had found him a looker. Bodywork the colour of the dawn sky, frame small, slender, with a translucent inset on his chest. Whirl increased visual acuity, zooming in to check out the curves of that little window, the subtle glow from within. He snicked his claws; the guy’s spark was practically on show. 

His alt mode was a little harder to guess. A scooter maybe, some kind of bike? Or was the hunched kibble on his back even a part of him? Keeping to the shadows, Whirl sauntered closer. Could have been an add on; with the chest window, that indicated the mech had either been forged high caste or very very low. 

The mech was coming this way.

Whirl leant against the wall and pretended to examine his claws. Was the guy from the Lost Light? He looked familiar, but Whirl hadn’t bothered to get to know the crew. No point. There were what, two hundred Cybertronians on board? He’d already found two who were willing to make friendly with an empuratee; it was outside the realm of statistical probability that he’d find any more.

The little orange guy _was_ on the crew. The more he looked, the more Whirl was sure of it. One of the science types, the kind who stuck to the edges of crowds, who didn’t prop up the bar all night. But he didn’t seem to recognise Whirl. At least, he didn’t nod to him or look at him, or give any other sign he’d noticed the rotors or the body work or the guns. 

The guy headed into a tourist shop, then immediately back out again and into the shop next door. It was one of those fancy craft stores. Whirl glared at it as a ghost of sensation fed him the frame memory of delicate parts held so carefully in his fingers. He shook it off; this shop wasn’t like that. It was for models and scrap, not timepieces. He waited, trying to think of the orange mech’s name. Had anyone ever introduced them? 

He didn’t think so. Orange came out of the model shop, and milled around for a while, looking in windows. Whirl followed at a distance. Eyebrows! That was it, he was the guy with the eyebrows! One of the science team or a medic or something like that. High caste, probably a right snob. Probably a good squirmer when they got down to it. 

Mobile and expressive, those eyebrows made little accents over the orange mech’s goggles. Whirl couldn’t tell whether the glasses were an augmentation or a fashion statement, but they suited him. Wouldn’t stop Whirl finding out what he looked like without them though. 

The backpack too. And Whirl was increasingly certain it _was_ a backpack. The colour of the paint was the smallest shade different to the rest of him, and the wear pattern on his shoulders and back didn’t quite match up. 

Eyebrows bought a slice of oil cake from a street vendor, and ate it as he window shopped. Whirl watched him lick the residue from his fingers, the oil dripping almost to his wrists. When the mech set off again, Whirl followed. 

* * *

Rung was being hunted. Stifling a smile, he kept his eyes forward and pretended not to notice the rotary as he wandered Tokerith’s tourist hub. 

It was one of Frisson’s club members, he was sure of it, and a fellow passenger of the Lost Light. Rung couldn’t remember his name - it wasn’t someone he’d met, but who could forget a frame like that? Rung kept on spotting him in different places as the day went by, always nonchalantly leaning against a wall or reading a news flimsy. Too many places to be coincidence. And he really did fit the bill. 

The mech was tall, bulky, a heliformer judging by his extensive kibble. He entered the bar five or so minutes after Rung, and held his glass securely in one massive claw. His prominent chest sported twin guns, and an array of other armaments clung to his bodywork. Although at rest, he gave the impression of incipient motion, violence only just held in check. 

He was also, clearly, a survivor of empurata. 

Treating himself to a second drink, Rung retreated to his table to the rear of the room. Semi secluded, the seats were high backed, booth style. It was darker there, and close to the rear door. The seats were also more heavily padded, and he gently stretched his limbs as he settled, easing out the aches of the day. 

He spared a glance at the bar; he was within the heliformer’s field of vision. It was difficult to judge exactly where his single optic was looking, but Rung finished his settling and took out his novel. He sipped his drink under the assumption that he was being watched. 

The rotary shifted position, feet curled around the bar stool, the segments of his waist overlapping as he twisted. 

Rung took another sip, and forced himself to stop looking. He was taking it easy for the evening, roleplaying a quiet night out - enjoying a nice drink and the opportunity for some uninterrupted reading. He managed a few paragraphs before risking another glance at the bar. The rotary had gone. 

“Hey there, eyebrows.” The voice came from above, and Rung startled. He looked up; the rotary was draped over the back of the booth, one claw dangling. “What are you reading?”

Rung blinked. “Um…”

“Make some space,” the rotary said, swinging around the side of the seat to perch right next to him. He loomed, claw snatching up the data pad. “The Ballad of Solus Prime. Whadda ya know. Classy _and_ racy.”

“I…” Rung lingered a moment, as if caught in indecision. The rotary was even bulkier up close, his chest on a line with Rung’s optics. Oh yes, he would do wonderfully. “I’m afraid I need to be going, please excuse me.” He stood, and the rotary lounged against the back of the booth, giving him just enough space to slip by. The rotary watched him, their energy fields meshing as he passed. It was awkward, and it would have been so easy to trip and fall into the rotary’s lap, but that wasn’t quite the scene he was looking for. 

“Good evening,” he said, and fled through the side door.

The rear corridor was dim-lit and empty. Thickly carpeted, it muffled Rung’s footsteps, and nearly hid the footfalls of the rotary in hot pursuit. 

“You forgot your book,” the rotary said, his accent rough, his voice carrying a timbre of barely suppressed excitement. He waved the data pad in his claw, and Rung paused. 

“Um... Thank you,” he said. “That’s very kind of you, I…” He held out his hand as the rotary approached, but instead of laying the book in his palm the rotary wrapped a claw around his wrist. 

“You left pretty quick,” he said. “That ain’t right. Hot little thing like you shouldn’t be all by himself.”

“Um, oh…” Rung took a step back, his heel colliding with the wall. “I…”

The rotary loomed, the sheer size of him sending a thrill through Rung’s circuits. He held up Rung’s hand, and with his free claw waved the data pad just out of reach. His engine revved, the muzzles of his guns so very close. Rung leaned against the wall, thankful the corridor was empty and they were free to begin the scene. 

Leaning down a little, the rotary clipped the data pad to Rung’s hip, his claw brushing the edge of his interface panel. 

“I need to leave now,” Rung said, keeping half an eye on the corridor’s points of access. No unwilling participants; it was a rule he would never break. But as long as no-one else came, he could indulge himself in the moment. 

“I don’t think so,” the rotary said, but Rung twisted and ducked, and made for the exit. He got two paces before his feet were swept from under him and the rotary slung him over his cockpit. 

“How dare you!” 

“I dare,” the rotary replied, taking easy hold of his thrashing frame. Rung squirmed, bucking to get some leverage, but the rotary had his arms and his legs and, braced over the solid bulk of his chest, there was nowhere to go. He increased his struggling, and the rotary laughed. “Getting warmer there? Don’t you worry, I’ll sort that right out for you. We’re gonna have some fun.”

Rung heaved to free himself, arching over the curve of the cockpit. That single optic watched him, while the hotel corridors passed in a blur.

“Here we are,” the rotary said, leaning close against a door and flickering his energy field over the panel. The door swished open, and Rung tried to see inside the room. An empty hallway would have been thrilling, but a secluded room had so much more potential. 

“Let me go!” Rung snapped. “What in Primus’ name do you think you’re doing?”

“Having you,” the rotary replied. The door clicked shut behind them, and the lock engaged with a thud. “You’re a hot little thing. What’s your alt mode?” He lifted Rung bodily and threw him down on the bed. The impact juddered through him, and he struggled to pull himself upright, to roll off towards the door. But the rotary was on him, over him, pinning his ankles under the weight of his legs, seizing his wrists, his backpack forcing his chest up. “You a two wheeler? Huh, that don’t look so comfy.” 

“It’s not comfortable, you oaf! Let me go!”

“Not gonna happen,” the rotary drawled. He sat back on his haunches, all his weight on Rung’s legs. Head tilted, he pulled Rung into a vague approximation of sitting. “What is that? That ain’t a part of you, is it?”

“N… no,” Rung admitted. “Now let me go.”

“Take it off.” 

“What?”

The rotary lifted his hands up high. “Take it off. Take the backpack thing off. What’s your real alt mode? I bet you’re a toy. You look like a toy. Some rich oilstain’s piece of shareware. A Prime’s concubine… Yeah, I can see that. Laying around all day on a big heap of cushions with your spark on show waiting for your owner to stick a plug in you.”

“I’m not a… a concubine! Get your hands off me!”

“They ain’t hands,” the rotary growled. “They’re claws, and I’ll put them anywhere I damn well please. Take that back thing off before I rip it off.”

Shivering, Rung held out until the rotary’s claws were wrapped around his back, pincers closing in. He released the clips, the backpack separating and falling to the bed. The rotary pushed it aside, where it promptly rolled off the edge and thunked on the floor. Snickering, he pushed Rung onto his back. 

“Better,” he commented. “What’s it feel like being a piece of shareware? Did your master pass you around at all them fancy parties?” He laughed as Rung struck him, and gathered both of Rung’s wrists into one of his claws. “Don’t you worry, I’m not gonna spread you around. I’m gonna keep you all to myself.”

“You are not!” Rung heaved against the rotary’s solid grip, squirming and pulling and thrashing until his limbs ached and his circuits buzzed. 

“You done there?” The rotary’s optic narrowed, and he took his free claw on a little tour of Rung’s torso. “You don’t gotta be. I like it when you struggle. Did your master used to like it? I bet they used to line up to get a piece of you.” He stroked up Rung’s chest, around the window onto his sparklight, and up along his neck to the curve of Rung’s cheek, a set of miniature grippers emerging from the tip to caress the line of his lips. Rung shook his head, the grippers grazing his lip, and his glasses coming adrift. 

“What do you think you’re doing! You have no right-”

“Frag you, I’ve got every right. I got the right to do whatever the frag I want.” The rotary nudged the glasses aside. “Heh, look at this.” He lifted them by the side, using the dextrous small pincers, and set them on a shelf high above the bunk. “You look good all stripped down. Ugh, just looking at you all pretty and struggling, and frag I got some charge I gotta let go of. Open up.”

Rung shook his head. 

“Don’t be like that. You’re gonna love this, shareware fragtoys always love getting screwed.”

He snapped at the claw, denta missing by a micron. “No. Now let me go!” 

“Mmm, you keep that up.” The rotary’s interface panel popped open, a cable spilling free. The end sparked obscenely, and the rotary’s engine purred. “It’s gonna be a lot of charge,” he said. “I’ll try to go easy on you, but… You got me so revved up.” He dragged the claw along Rung’s hip, the gripper investigating the seam, the tiny leading edge probing and poking. “Show me your ports.”

“You don’t need to do this!” 

“Yeah, no. I do. I really really do. Now are you gonna pull back that cover or do I gotta do it myself?”

Biting his lip, Rung pulled as hard as he could on his wrists. “Let me go!”

“If I still had a mouth…” The rotary shook his head. “I’d keep you quiet. But not too quiet. I wanna hear you moan, I wanna make you scream. Last chance to do this the easy way. Are you gonna be a good little fragtoy and open up?”

“No! Please don’t do this, don’t...” Rung looked down, optics wide as the pincer eased itself into the seam, the metal slowly, gradually beginning to bend. “No… please…” 

“You wanna be able to close yourself up after, don’t you? Or do you wanna walk around with your ports on show? Just think of all those big, hungry mecha looking at you. They won’t be good to you like I will. They’ll see you slinking on home and take you in some dirty little ally.” His optic grew closer, the clawlet pushing in. “Is that what your old master used to do? Did he make you walk around with all your parts on show? Did he let just anyone screw you while he watched?”

The first clip went, and Rung hissed. 

“I’m gonna have you,” the rotary whispered. “Whatever happens I’m gonna hook up to you and I’m gonna enjoy you every way I can.”

“You are not!” Rung winced, denta gritted. “What makes you think you can do this?”

“Cause I can,” the rotary said easily, and Rung shivered. 

“What, just because you’re stronger? Because you _can_ you think you _should?_ ” 

“Why not?” the rotary snarled. “Cause of the empurata? Is that it? I can’t have you cause you’re some high and mighty senator’s play-drone who got lucky and does science now? Cause I got no face and claws for hands?” The pincer began to work on the second clip. 

“Because you can’t get away with it. There will be consequences-”

“Ha! Yeah, consequences. Been there, done that. Consequences…” He wormed his claw-tip deeper. “We ain’t in the Golden Age any more, sweet-spark. It’s a whole new universe, and the strong take what they want.”

Rung was panting now, venting hard against the grind of the pincer. “They shouldn’t,” he persevered. “ _You_ shouldn’t-”

“You got a pretty mouth, how about I give it something else to do?”

Rung slammed his lips together, and the rotary laughed. With a twist of a claw and a fleeting burst of yellow-hot pain Rung’s interface panel came loose. He yelped, and the moment his mouth opened the rotary’s claws were there. 

He shook his head, the claw-tip sitting sharply on his tongue, his mouth forced open. 

“Suck on this,” the rotary said, and eased the muzzle of a gun between Rung’s lips. “Go on.”He carefully extracted his claw, and pressed gradually down. Rung couldn’t shake his head, couldn’t even move it. The muzzle was warm and softly buzzing, the energy field rippling in aroused little waves. It tasted of cleanser and a remote tang of burning. 

“Suck it,” the rotary said. “Come on, get your tongue moving or I’ll push it in even further.” He shuddered, and Rung felt him grasp for his own interface cable where it swung by his thigh. “Ugh, that’s more like it. Get your mouth doing something worthwhile.”

Rung lapped the muzzle, his lips as wide as they could go. The air was cool on his exposed ports, and he suppressed a shudder, but the rotary noticed and his laughter rumbled through Rung’s frame. 

“Is that all it takes to warm you up?” he said. He moved his plug over Rung’s interface array, dipping through the edge of his energy field, little surges catching at the circuitry beneath. The crackling plug drew closer, and he whimpered around the gun, squirming anew as sparks leapt and grounded themselves tantalisingly harsh in Rung’s frame. 

“Put your tongue inside,” the rotary grunted. “Ugh, just like that. Here it comes, gonna give you what you deserve.” 

The plug sank in, Rung freezing as the connector forced its way in. It clicked in place, and he screamed around the muzzle as the rotary unloaded himself fierce and fast. The torrent of charge made his temperature skyrocket, and hit his spark like a hammer. 

“Is that how you like it?” the rotary asked, his voice veiled in static, his vents coming quick. He groaned, unloading faster, another great rush of charge that Rung’s frame could hardly process. It was too much too soon, too great a torrent of energy overwhelming him, overtaking him. He gagged on the muzzle, bucking and thrashing, completely unprepared for the next intense roll of charge. Each pulse seemed hotter than the last, each invasion of his frame making the rotary groan in ecstasy. 

With the next heated pulse the muzzle slipped out of his mouth as the rotary arched in pleasure, and Rung panted for air, tense in the grip of those claws, beneath that solid weight. He shuddered, his systems overloading and resetting and ramping all over again under the onslaught of the rotary’s excess charge. 

Blades flaring and his single optic wide and bright, the rotary leaned over Rung, the pulses softening now, the air from his vents incandescent. “I know you came,” he said. “You couldn’t help yourself. You like being used, don’t you? Such a dirty little bot. Admit it.”

Rung shook his head, and the rotary gripped his chin hard.

“Admit it. You know you liked it.” He sent a quick little pulse that exploded in Rung’s innards like fireworks. “Ha! Look at you squirm, you’re loving this.” He pressed closer, nuzzling Rung’s cheek. “This is only round one,” he whispered. “Just you wait.”

Rung tensed against him, hauling all over again, and the rotary slipped from Rung’s legs. Rung yanked on his wrists, sliding sideways off the bed and lurching for the door, the rotary’s cable unspooling behind him. He hit the metal with a thud, grabbing the lock and smashing the keys at random. The rotary swore, then laughed, and scooped him up from behind. Rung fought hard, kicking at the rotary’s legs, slapping the casing of his optic and moving too fast, too slippery to be pinned down. But the rotary was stronger, larger, heavier; he had every advantage, and he used them all to great effect. 

“Got a lotta fight in you,” he said through that haze of static, his energy field crackling with a fresh wave of arousal. Rung got a taste as the rotary pressed him to the door, gun barrels either side of his head, that plug still embedded in his array. The rotary paid no mind to his punches, and ground against him, running his claws down Rung’s sides, making his energy field lap and tingle through the slimline coating of Rung’s outer armour. 

“I’m gonna have you again,” the rotary said. “You can’t fight me. You’re so small and weak, you couldn’t fight a turborat.” He looked down at Rung’s hands firmly lodged against his chest. “You know you can’t win, right?” He caressed the curve of Rung’s port where it hugged his connector. “Right?”

Shivering, Rung shook his head. 

“You’re all banged up for nothing,” the rotary commented. “Look at you, all scuffed and dented. Here…” He grabbed one of Rung’s connectors, his gripper teasing the tip. “I wanna feel you. I bet you’re all hot inside. A quick frag can’t ever be enough for someone like you.” 

Rung shook his head again. He looked down, defeated, and gasped as the rotary plugged him in. 

“I want all the feedback,” he stated. “I want everything. I’m gonna take it nice and slow this time, and you’re not gonna fight me. You got that?”

A shudder shook Rung’s frame, delicious and sudden. He continued to push against the rotary’s broad chest, tensing as the interface lit up with a slow and teasing low pulse. He squirmed, pushing, trapped. The flow warmed him from within, making the coolant rush and flicking little lapping flames of pleasure through his interface circuits and outwards into the rest of his frame. His vents gradually slowed, and the strength left his arms as the interface massaged him from within. 

“Ain’t that better?” the rotary whispered, prising Rung from the door and lifting him. Rung struggled weakly, his firewalls putting up a pre-programmed pretense at expelling the invader, before wilting back to dormancy. “That’s it, you cling on to me. Wrap your little hands around my guns. Mmm, you need this, don’t you?”

Rung murmured something incoherent. His hardware felt ravaged and soothed and excited all at once, the lapping flames both calming and arousing, the crackle of pleasure growing. He let it flow through the interface, gasping at a returning rush of smugness, of predatory focus. 

“Admit it,” the rotary growled, as the little flames licked their way around Rung’s spark. “You want this, you love this.”

Rung nodded, lips parted as he sighed. 

“You need this.”

He groaned as his spark responded, a wash of heated pleasure flooding through him.

“That’s it, you love this.”

“I… need this,” he whispered. “I want…”

“Mmm, you want me, you’ve wanted me since you first laid eyes on me. Look at you, you’re loving this. All you needed was a good hard frag to get you in the mood.”

“I…” Rung’s voice caught, his grip tightening on the rotary’s guns. “Please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

“Please…” He slid his hands over the barrels of the guns, striving to feel the sharpness of those claws around his aft and waist. “Tighter… Hold me tighter!”

The rotary obliged, and Rung gasped as his paint split around the knife-sharp edges, the claws contacting the bare metal beneath. “Please… more!” he breathed, and the rotary indulged him, filling his frame with a pulsing warmth, wrapping his spark in a lapping caress. “Ah!”

“You like that?” 

Rung whimpered, optics flickering, all his focus on the lapping, building pressure around his spark. The rotary pulsed into him, and he gasped, his head slamming back. 

“Frag, you’re a filthy little thing.”

This time the overload did not catch him by surprise. It grew steadily, slowly, from the interface, catching at his spark, erupting in thrilling precursors through his energy field. He shivered in the rotary’s grip, vents coming fast now, spark thrumming and circuits thrilling. 

When he came it was all encompassing, a release as emotional as it was physical, as satisfying as he could possibly have imagined. The rotary held him tight and close, near-wrapped around his chest, letting loose with his own charge, his own spark flaring so hard it was as though their coronas meshed. 

When the rotary rebooted his optic and looked again at Rung there was a softness to his expression. “ _Frag_ ,” he sighed. 

Rung smiled, his fans still whirring, and his vents pouring out hot air. “Thank you,” he said. “That was exactly what I needed.”

“Scrap, yeah, frag.” The rotary carried him gently to the bed and set him down. “Wow.” He decoupled them, slow and careful. “You need anything? I got some high grade, mid-grade, coolant…”

“A drink would be nice.” Rung collapsed back onto the softness of the hotel bed. He let his cable spill free, the everyday aches of his frame beginning again to make themselves felt. “I’ll take whichever’s coldest.”

He watched the rotary pack his own equipment away, and lean over to fetch a few cubes from the night stand. Wincing, he sat up.

The rotary gave him a look. “You need me to call for someone? I, uh, kinda made a mess of your panel…”

Rung accepted a cube of coolant, allowing his hands to linger on the rotary’s claw. “It was wonderful,” he said. “You were wonderful.” 

The rotary didn’t seem to know how to take that, and looked down, claws smoothing over the sheets. 

Rung eased himself into a position where he could drink without spilling it, and the rotary moved to help him. 

“You sure you don’t need a doc or something?”

Rung took a sip, then a deeper draught. “I need a long hot oil bath,” he said, and flashed the rotary a smile. “My name’s Rung, I think I’ve seen you around on the Lost Light.”

“Whirl,” the rotary replied, grabbing his own cube. “I, uh… Frag, you’re gorgeous. Like... I just. Yeah. You want some help with that bath? I got this room the whole night, and the guy out front said something about an oil bath suite when I came in...”

“I would love some help,” Rung said. He unclipped his damaged interface cover. “Would you pass me my backpack please. I brought a spare just in case.”

“Course you did,” Whirl said, hooking the backpack off the floor and handing it over. He watched rapt as Rung swapped out the damaged cover. 

“It’ll do until I can see Ratchet.” Rung lay back down again, and sighed. 

Whirl flopped down on the bed beside him. “Bet you got a whole med kit in there too,” he said. “And a DOC unit.” 

Rung laughed. “Not quite. I do have an emergency box though.” He laid a hand on the back of Whirl’s nearest claw. “You can come closer,” he said, “if you’d like?”

Whirl’s optic widened slightly, and his energy field rippled with satisfaction. He curled around Rung, twisted slightly to keep his chest from crushing Rung’s shoulder. “That OK?” he said. 

“Mmmhmm,” Rung replied, stretching a little in Whirl’s embrace. A claw came to rest over his spark, and Rung covered it with his hands. “It’s wonderful.”

* * *

Whirl lounged in the oil bath. Rung was floating, a smile on his face and his optics dim as though he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Deep in the oil, Whirl’s feet kept him afloat, every so often spinning him gently around. 

For a sciencey guy, he was a lot of fun. And hot. Whirl couldn’t ignore that. Even banged-up after their scene he had a low-key eroticism to him. Some of that could have been the oil - everything looked shinier here - but there was something about him. Whirl could take him any time, any place he wanted. 

“You want another drink?” Whirl asked, pushing Rung up gently and making him bob in the warm oil. 

“Not yet,” Rung said, his voice as clear as his optics were drowsy. “Would you like to do this again?”

“This…”

“The scene,” Rung said. “Or a different scene. It could be a while before we set foot on another planet like this, but we’re on the same ship.”

Whirl stared. Then he bobbed Rung around until his finely crafted face came into view. “You wanna scene with me again?”

“Of course.” Rung’s optics brightened, focusing on Whirl. “Today was exactly what I hoped for. And you really are very attractive.”

Whirl didn’t know where to look. Attractive? Well, sure, of course he was, he was amazing, but… Attractive? To Rung? 

“You seemed to enjoy yourself today, I hope I’m not wrong in that?”

“Oh frag yes.” Whirl pulled Rung into his lap, his spark warming as the mech laughed. “I’d do you any time,” he whispered, waggling his antennae. 

Rung made himself comfortable, looping his arms over Whirl’s cockpit. “I know the ship isn’t the easiest of places, but I’m sure we can find a way to keep our scenes completely private on the Lost Light. My hab-suite has very thick walls…”

“You wanna scene with me again,” Whirl whispered, then, “We’re gonna need ‘em.” He revved his engine, nestling his head against Rung’s. “It better be soundproof, the way I’m gonna make you scream.”

Rung gave a flare of his energy field, and smiled that calm, confident smile of his. “How about tomorrow?”


End file.
